Candlelight
by AllyinthekeyofX
Summary: Playing with fire is sometimes the only way. Mulder POV/first person narrative.
1. Part 1 - Realisation

Candlelight

By

AllyinthekeyofX

 **SUMMERY –**

Playing with fire is sometimes the only way. Mulder POV/first person narrative.

 **NOTES –**

This is set somewhere in season 7. Post 'All Things' and it should be noted that I am a true believer in the 'All Things' Mulder/Scully sex phenomena. In my universe at least, by this point they are engaging in the naked pretzel on a semi-regular basis. Spoilers for 'Irresistible' and 'Orison' which are easily two of my all-time favourite episodes. Donnie Pfaster continues to creep me out and will prevent me always from ever having groceries delivered! This is completed bar the usual read through, corrections and edits. And comprises of 4 parts. Reviews make me type faster ;) I realise I have a couple or three unfinished stories on the go at the moment. But I always have a few on the go. It's just how my brain works.

 **DISCLAIMER –**

None of these characters belong to me. They remain the sole property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen productions and FOX. They have lots of money as a result. I on the other hand have none.

 **Part One – Realisation**

It's funny, so funny how we can see a person every day and not truly know what's going on with them. We can walk side by side for month upon endless month. We share space and time. We laugh together, cry together, and eat lunch together. We can go for the occasional beer together to help wipe away the rigours of another day. And sometimes, if we are extraordinarily lucky, we are able look in to the face of that same person both last thing at night and first thing in the morning.

And despite all this, we don't always see the bigger picture. Especially when the person is so damn adept at hiding things.

 _Especially_ when that person is Scully.

She's always hidden things from me. I accepted that as being a part of her complex personality a very long time ago – especially since I suspect that she learned much of the evasion technique from me.

Oh yes. Team Spooky are very adept at hiding our true feelings. We hide behind walls of our own making.

It's just how things are.

But occasionally, the walls crumble just a little. And I catch a glimpse of Scully's dreams, hopes and fears.

 _Just like I did today._

I lay on my back, staring at the patterns that the trees outside throw on the ceiling above, carefully not moving too much lest I disturb the woman who is sleeping beside me, pressed against me, her hold on me hasn't relaxed even as she finally closed her eyes.

She hasn't been asleep for very long. Sleep was a hard fought battle for her tonight. But I knew enough not to question her. Instead I emotionally backed right off and swallowed down my concerns, feigning sleep so she was able to finally relax against me. It was the only thing I could think to do. Because, as the shadows lengthened on the ceiling, I kept turning my head to check she was ok. And despite her best efforts, I caught a glimpse each time of those china blue eyes staring at me before she slammed them shut.

I didn't push the issue though. If she needed to retreat from me it was fine. She needs to rest. I don't much care how she achieves that.

I had tried to act as though I hadn't noticed that anything was wrong. We had arrived back at my apartment and gone through the motions. It was still relatively early and since we'd both pretended to eat on the plane I suggested a movie complete with beer and popcorn.

We drank the beer as we both watched a movie that neither of us really saw. The bowl of popcorn remained untouched.

I studied her surreptitiously out of the corner of my eye, carefully not turning my head in her direction. And in return, she remained staring stubbornly at the screen, refusing to look my way even though she knew I was watching her. Afraid of what her face would reveal. Of what it would affirm. We've been here too many times. But we don't really know how to get past it.

So instead of speaking, I rested my arm across the back of the couch, just allowing it to brush her shoulders and feeling her lean back to make contact before pulling her towards me and tucking her body against mine as I tried, with gentle caresses to soothe the tension from her.

To a certain extent it worked. As she responded to my touch in a way I hadn't really expected, her sense of urgency building as she sought to lose herself for a while.

We made love of course. The sensation of being with Scully is still new enough for me lose myself right along with her. But later, as we lay sated, the tension was back. And so were the walls. And I so much wanted to question her on what exactly had happened earlier today. But I didn't. I know better than to insist. To insist would be to not only slam the door, but to double lock it and post a heavily armed guard outside.

I was relieved when she finally slipped in to a troubled sleep because it allowed me to rest also.

I can feel her heartbeat. And I take comfort from each and every breath she takes. Because it wasn't so very long ago that I thought I'd lost her for good. That terrifying time when I could literally see the life force draining from her. That no matter how hard she fought, how hard she denied what was happening to her, that the cancer invading her very essence was insidiously and relentlessly taking her away.

Until suddenly it was just gone.

Maybe it was the chip. Maybe it was a miracle.

I'm not sure I really believe in either.

And for a long time I have been waiting for the second shoe to drop.

Some days I seem to be suspended in a state of perpetual fear. Trying hard not to overreact if she seems tired, has a headache, is tense or irritable. All normal, everyday things that others just take for granted.

A part of life.

But I don't think life for me will ever be normal for me again. I don't ever let her see how scared I am. Scully is a capable, independant woman. She doesn't need me to turn in to a gibbering wreck everytime she is a little under par. She needs us to go back to how we were before. So I try very hard to do that.

But when she is asleep, I am able to let my mask slip just a little. I can allow myself to think.

To _process._

But tonight I'm not thinking of what I almost lost. I'm thinking instead about what I saw in her earlier today.

We'd both come to the end of a long and difficult case. Physically and emotionally draining for the both of us as we tracked a serial killer who got his ya yas from slicing up young women and writing proclamations of faith on the walls of their apartments using the congealing blood he had carefully harvested from their broken bodies as they died.

The murders were grisly.

Horrific.

 _Senseless._

They took their toll on the both of us as we sought to unravel the horror that made up his head. But ultimately, the profiling had been the easy part. What was harder to reconcile was the sight of those women – the youngest being just 17 years old – bloodied and defiled and yet so innocent. It will stay with me for a very long time.

With the help of our profile, we eventually tracked him down to a rundown two room apartment just north of the city. The bright lights and opulence of New York seemed a million miles away from this hovel we eventually found ourselves in.

But despite meticulous planning, we initially thought we had failed – although in a sense we had I think.

The apartment appeared, on first glance, to be empty. No furniture, no apparent personal effects of any kind. But as the cry of surprise reached us from the bathroom, we knew. We both knew that it was over.

The bathroom, like the rest of the apartment, was dingy. In dire need of redecoration and renovation. But just for a moment, I was struck by how beautiful the golden glow hitting the tiled walls was. How it illuminated the sight of The Reverend Terrance Mosely.

Countless flickering candles somehow softening the grisly scene before us.

The sight of a monster who had used his position to gain trust, to hide in plain sight. A kindly priest who unbeknown to those around him, burned with an ungodly desire, an appetite that had to be sated.

 _To kill, to maim, to defile._

A man who would probably plague the famililies of his fifteen victims' dreams for decades to come.

For them there would never be justice. He had taken that away from them too.

For once, I didn't need my partner's medical degree to ascertain a cause of death. The deep, open cuts evident on both arms, stretching from just above the palm to the crook of the elbow, following the arterial paths made for an easy assumption.

And a final message. Written on the tiles above the bath. God only knows how he managed to remain conscious for long enough to write it. But if I've learned anything over the years, it's that real evil lends a strength to an individual's actions that the rest of us find hard to believe.

 _For my sins I die like the lamb_

And that was that.

Case closed.

Nothing more to learn here.

Until I glanced up and saw the look on Scully's face.

Because she wasn't seeing _any_ of this.

Not the body, not the blood on the walls, the floor, the fucking ceiling.

None of it.

All she saw were those flickering flames.

And I swear that, as the colour drained from her face, that she was about to collapse against the wall and wind up in an ungainly heap on the floor.

My beautiful, strong, capable partner, jostling for space on the cracked linoleum with the body of a serial killer.

 _With a monster._

Until I realised that she was somewhere else. In another time. Another place. With a different monster. One that was no less evil.

 _Candles. So many candles._

 _Lighted by Donnie Pfaster as a backdrop to his perverted need to capture Scully. The one that got away._

"Scully"

My voice was sharp. Urgent. I needed to get her back. Right then. Before anyone else noticed.

It was enough. Just.

And her voice was surprisingly steady as she backed out of the room.

"I need some air."

And then she was gone. I was left crouching on the floor as I stared at her retreating form. Heard the door slam as she exited the apartment and strained my ears to the sound of her footsteps. Walking at first, then running. Running away from the memories of him. Memories I thought she had laid to rest.

Memories she has never shared them with me.

And I remained there for a while. Even though I wasn't needed. The case was closed. The killer was dead. The good citizens of New York could tonight, sleep easily in their beds. But I stayed because I knew if I didn't, I would have to run after her. And I knew she wouldn't want that. So I stayed. For maybe thirty minutes until the CSI boys arrived and started taking their happy snaps of the body.

I had no excuse to stay after that. So I left. Safe in the knowledge that we had once again fought the good fight and won the day. Only this time any sense of achievement had been blown right out of my head by that look of horror on Scully's face. A reaction that had been totally beyond her control.

I had thought she was over it.

I had thought she was over _him._

How could I have been so fucking blind?

And now, as she sleeps beside me, her beautiful face suffused in that peculiar blue light of night time I am wracked with guilt that I hadn't noticed. But at the same time I know that like me, Scully allows me only scant access to her innermost thoughts and feelings.

That she will allow me access only on her terms.

But this time, I know that there can be no arguments. No excuses.

She can't live with the inhuman monster that was Donnie Pfaster residing inside her head. I won't let her. I can't.

Continued in part 2


	2. Part 2 - Strategy

Candlelight

By

AllyinthekeyofX

 **SUMMERY –**

Playing with fire is sometimes the only way. Mulder POV/first person narrative.

 **NOTES –**

This is set somewhere in season 7. Post 'All Things' and it should be noted that I am a true believer in the 'All Things' Mulder/Scully sex phenomena. In my universe at least, by this point they are engaging in the naked pretzel on a semi-regular basis. Spoilers for 'Irresistible' and 'Orison' which are easily two of my all-time favourite episodes. Donnie Pfaster continues to creep me out and will prevent me always from ever having groceries delivered! This is completed bar the usual read through, corrections and edits. And comprises of 4 parts. Reviews make me type faster ;) I realise I have a couple or three unfinished stories on the go at the moment. But I always have a few on the go. It's just how my brain works.

 **DISCLAIMER –**

None of these characters belong to me. They remain the sole property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen productions and FOX. They have lots of money as a result. I on the other hand have none.

 **Part 2 – Strategy**

I still find it hard to get used to the fact that, instead of the strident tones of my alarm clock jarring me awake, for the most part I now enjoy Scully's feather light touch as she coaxes me gently to full wakefulness.

Gone are the days where I used to literally throw myself out of sleep, usually being pursued by faceless men who lurked in the dark corners of my mind. Waiting to consume me – to consume us as the nightmares refused to loosen their grip on me.

But now I don't really dream.

And when I do, I dream of her.

Sometimes, when I open my eyes and see her beside me, I have trouble believing that she's really here with me. That she isn't just a fragment of a dream.

Today is no exception. I'm still groggy and only half awake as I reach out my hand to touch her. To affirm she is really there.

She smiles, her eyes soft and warm as she whispers that I should sleep a little longer. That I look exhausted.

No argument from me there. I had lain awake for most of the night. Silent and still I watched over her in the darkness. Eventually though, at some point between the lessening of night and the breaking of dawn - as the sky became streaked with that golden light that heralds the start of a new day – I had finally managed to switch my brain off and fall asleep.

But not before I had begun to formulate a plan.

It is a plan that both terrifies me and fills me with hope. A hope that I can somehow help her to mend herself. That she can dispel the fear that lives inside of her as a result of what he put her through, not once but twice.

My hope for her is born of a love for her that is so strong that it blinds me to everything else. I am powerless to resist.

But it's a gamble. A gamble that I'm almost scared to take.

I've learned the hard way that some actions, no matter how well meaning, can have dire consequences.

It's not a question of guilt. I accepted a long time ago that I am not wholly responsible for every choice Scully makes or has made. She is her own person. She always has been. But for years I refused to accept that. Self-obsessed and hurting I refused to allow her the luxury of recrimination, believing it to be mine alone. And in doing so I almost lost her for good. No second chances. No turning back.

I had watched as she retreated further and further away from me. Deeper in to herself as she fought to survive. And I wasn't a part of her survival plan. The humiliation that was Diana Fowley still burned and simmered inside of her. There was nowhere for it to go.

Sure, we still worked together but our relationship at that point, both personal and professional was in tatters.

To a casual observer it would have seemed like nothing much had changed. But I knew. Oh yeah, I knew.

My flirtation with Diana had hurt her. But that was nothing compared to the ultimate betrayal – that I had placed more trust in this woman from my past than I had placed in Scully.

She didn't hate me exactly for what I'd done.

What she felt for me was worse and to me at least, all too obvious.

 _She felt nothing_.

To her, I had made myself in to a non-person. In order to protect herself she had shut me out. I had betrayed her in the worst way and by the time I had realised just how much I had hurt her, it was almost too late.

 _Almost._

But finally, things had got better between us. We had found ourselves again. If anything, we managed to crawl out the other side with our allegiance and friendship intact.

And for once we had talked.

Scully had laid down her conditions to enable her to remain working with me. Top of the list was trust. Because if I didn't trust her, then there was nothing.

I had listened. I had learned.

And now I am wondering if I am about to throw it all away.

But I have to do something. Because as real as her pain and hurt is, mine is also real.

It's a pain I have felt since that awful night when I watched my partner lose control.

Watched as she shot a man who was already captured. Who wasn't armed. Who had nowhere to go, nowhere to run. She killed him in cold blood. With no warning. And legally at least, with no good reason.

I lied for her at the subsequent OPR hearing. And I know those lies eat away at her.

We've never talked about it. Not really. Like most things, we just picked ourselves up and carried on.

As though it never happened.

 _Have I mentioned it's one of our skills?_

I never told her that I was secretly relieved that she had been the one to pull the trigger, that she had done me a great service. Because if it hadn't been her, it would surely have been me. I can still see her face, alarmingly devoid of emotion as she ended his life.

She cried for hours that night, seeking absolution for what she had done and I allowed her bear that burden without ever speaking up. Without ever telling her that she had been right. That in killing him, she had slain a monster. That if she hadn't slain him, I would have done the job for her.

The difference being of course that Scully had ended his life quickly.

I wouldn't have shown the bastard the same mercy.

I would have made him suffer.

I would have emptied my clip in to every conceivable part of his body. Slowly and methodically choosing areas that would cause him maximum pain whilst still allowing him to live. Until finally I would have stuffed the barrel of my Sig in to his bloodied mouth and made him eat it.

And I would have relished hearing every single one of his screams. I would have made him beg me for release.

It's not a nice thing to admit but I should have admitted it.

 _To her, I should have opened my mouth and fucking admitted it._

I could have in part at least, eased her guilt a long time ago. But I didn't. Because I can't bring myself to admit to her that I feel cheated that I wasn't the one who killed him. That I wished it had been me.

 _I'm a selfish bastard sometimes._

Scully had her own reasons for doing what she did that night. She deserved absolution, not me. And so I allowed her to kill him. I allowed her to take responsibility. I have regretted it every single day since then.

Because I should have known that she could never gain absolution from such an act.

She doesn't think like me.

 _Thank Christ she doesn't think like me._

I can't turn the clock back. What's done is done.

But I can at least try to make amends.

And then I sleep.

Continued Part 3


	3. Part 3 - The Plan

Candlelight

By

AllyinthekeyofX

 **SUMMERY –**

Playing with fire is sometimes the only way. Mulder POV/first person narrative.

 **NOTES –**

This is set somewhere in season 7. Post 'All Things' and it should be noted that I am a true believer in the 'All Things' Mulder/Scully sex phenomena. In my universe at least, by this point they are engaging in the naked pretzel on a semi-regular basis. Spoilers for 'Irresistible' and 'Orison' which are easily two of my all-time favourite episodes. Donnie Pfaster continues to creep me out and will prevent me always from ever having groceries delivered! This is completed bar the usual read through, corrections and edits. And comprises of 4 parts. Reviews make me type faster ;) I realise I have a couple or three unfinished stories on the go at the moment. But I always have a few on the go. It's just how my brain works.

 **DISCLAIMER –**

None of these characters belong to me. They remain the sole property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen productions and FOX. They have lots of money as a result. I on the other hand have none.

 **Chapter 3 – The Plan**

It's been pretty easy to put my plan in to action today. We have both been confined to the office. Catching up on the paperwork we missed during our prolonged absence in New York. The obligatory 'welcome back' meeting with Skinner had, for once passed uneventfully. We sat and listened to him gush effusively in a most un-Skinner-like way regarding the work we had done there over the past couple of weeks.

Skinner doesn't usually gush at me over anything. In fact his version of the proverbial gold star is to get through a meeting with me without actually raising his voice. Our professional relationship has shifted slightly since Scully's cancer. He doesn't seem to yell at me as much as he used to although I still get the impression that he doesn't like me very much. That I am an uncomfortable thorn in his side that refuses to go away.

But like I say, today was different.

The fact that two of his Agents had managed to succeed where the fine law enforcement professionals of New York City for the better part of two years had failed, meant he was sporting a feather in his cap the size of the east river. And at one point during that rather one-sided conversation I was sure he was going to rise up out of his chair and start doing the cha cha cha around his office.

Which frankly, would have been an X-File in itself. So I'm thankful he managed to contain himself.

Scully was unusually quiet throughout the meeting. She nodded a lot but that was pretty much the extent of her contribution as I outlined how our investigation had wrapped up.

I skipped the part about her freaking out at the sight of the candles in Moseley's bathroom. I filed it in the folder marked _'things Skinner doesn't need to know'_

It's the one that sits right next to the one marked _'Things I don't need to tell him'_

I've got a few files like that.

If he noticed her reluctance to speak though, he didn't mention it. I think he was too busy trying to find a way to put a positive spin on the fact that, despite the work we had just done, how we had worked solidly and diligently for the past fourteen days without a break that there was to be no real respite.

He had passed a case file to me for perusal. Sent up by the Albany field office it made references to several unexplained disappearances of self-proclaimed alien abductees. The investigation had hit the proverbial brick wall and they were now hoping that the combined talents of team Spooky would come and get the job done.

I had glanced across at Scully and saw she was as pissed off as I was. I mean _Albany_ for Gods sake? We'd only just made the trip back. Sometimes I feel like a fucking yo yo.

I'd actually been hoping to spend a few days in my apartment. The place I pay an exorbitant rent for. A place it sometimes seems like I barely inhabit. It would have been nice to reacquaint myself with my neglected fish family who probably think they have been kidnapped by a small evil, bespectacled dwarf.

Not that I'm knocking him. Uncle Melvin takes his fishsitting duties very seriously. I can leave my tank with the comforting knowledge that he will come by once a day to ensure the occupants aren't starving or eating each other.

But even so, it would be nice to be there just once to say a few words when one gives up on the concept of life and winds up floating at the top of the tank. It should be me who watches as he or she makes that final swirling journey around the toilet bowl not him.

But sadly it's not to be because the tickets are already booked. We fly out on Sunday morning. No day of rest for us.

The only small compensation is that Skinner has given us the okay to leave early today. Just as soon as we are done with the paperwork, we can escape. It will give us a day and a half to re-group and recover from the last few weeks.

Not much, but better than nothing I concede.

Of course it meant I had to put everything in to overdrive. I'd been hoping for more preparation time to be honest. But I should know by now that life tends to have a knack of fucking up any plans I may have had. So I've become reasonably adept at working with what I've got.

It's just past midday now.

I am watching Scully. Her head is bent over her work, a frown furrowing her brow. But I sense that she's nowhere near as absorbed as she pretends to be. She puts up a great act. Almost worthy of an Equity card in fact. But she doesn't fool me for a second.

She has studiously ignored me for the last couple of hours and the silence between us is thick as treacle.

 _She's not talking because she knows I know._

She knows that I am thinking about the way she looked in that shitty apartment.

She knows I have thought of little else these past twenty-four hours.

So she remains buried in her work, terrified that at any moment I might jump right in there with my size tens and force her to acknowledge it.

And even though I can feel that fear radiating off her in waves, bouncing off the walls of our subterranean cell, it hasn't stopped me from slipping out of the office to have whispered phone conversations with my fellow conspirators from within the safety of the men's bathroom.

I'm not sure what Scully thinks of my sudden need to visit the little boys room so frequently. In fact I'm not sure she has even noticed my absence half the time.

But on my final sojourn I was gratified to learn that my plan was coming together. My credit card had taken a bit of a battering via Byers in the Marshalls home ware department but that was okay.

All that's left to do is to ensure that Scully, in the great tradition of every contrived situation, is in the right place at the right time. Which could well be the tricky part. I have no idea what her plans are for the evening, or if I even figure in them.

Another quick glance in her direction confirms that she is still bent over her work and I get softly to my feet, carefully lifting the chair slightly so it doesn't scrape against the tiled floor beneath.

But I'm not sure it was necessary. She's so out of it at the moment that she doesn't notice me until I am literally standing right next to her, starting slightly as I rest my palm on the downy soft hair at the nape of her neck. My thumb traces a line along her warm skin. That beautiful skin that is flawless apart from the tiny bump of scar tissue that almost killed her.

In response to my touch she lifts her head and turns those blue eyes on me. I know that those eyes were partly responsible for her Ice Queen label at the Academy. Because when she has closed down, those eyes become twin chips of cobalt ice. She can almost cut a man in two with those eyes. But today, her eyes are masked by the glasses she wears. I love Scully in glasses. In fact most of my previous fantasies of the last six years have involved her in those glasses.

My hand remains in position as she subconsciously leans in to it, allowing me to caress her softly beneath her hair. I'm aware that it's not really appropriate. That I am blurring the lines between our professional and personal boundaries. But today I don't give a shit. I can feel the tension beneath that soft white skin. It's the one thing she can't hide from me. A physical manifestation of how she's feeling and one which I only really noticed since I didn't have the implicit permission to touch her before that I have now.

"Let's get out of here Scully"

"I'm not hungry"

She shakes her head, and strands of her hair tickle the back of my hand.

"I don't mean for lunch. I mean out of here. As in _out of here_."

She waves vaguely at the file in front of her on the desk

"But we haven't..."

Before she can finish I reach over her and flip the file closed, picking it up and letting it slip from my fingers on to the floor. It hits the tile with a satisfying thunk.

"Ooops"

Scully arches one perfect eyebrow. That signature look she gives me when I allow my mental age to slip a few decades.

"Mulder, I hate to be the bearer of bad news...but that hasn't made it disappear."

I shrug

"Yeah well, that's good. Means it'll still be here when we get back right?"

If we get back of course.

Our job is dangerous, unpredictable. And with every new case there is always the very real risk that either one or both of us won't make it out the other end. It's a sobering thought and one which occasionally, makes me want to just take off early. Our chances of gumming our way through our retirement years in some Florida retirement complex are slim to none. Which is sometimes why I want to make the most of every precious moment.

She knows I'm right. That leaving that one file isn't going to make one bit of difference and I can see her wavering.

She's tired and she's used up. Sitting in our airless excuse for a workspace isn't helping.

And it's not like we are breaking any rules. Skinner did say we could take off once we were done.

Well, Mr Assistant Director, we are _done_.

Finally, she crumbles. Her resolve blown apart by the need to escape.

And as we walk side by side towards the elevator, I try to keep things casual

"So Scully, I'm thinking you and me. My place tonight. Your choice of movie. Bottle of expensive imported beer...I could even cook..."

She snorts.

Scully is a champion snorter. And this time I have to concede that she has cause. My idea of wining and dining usually comprises an offer of a warm beer and a slice of reheated pizza. I'm the first to admit that I'm not exactly up there with the culinary masters.

"Okay, how about I let Geranio cook and I'll just warm the plates?"

And I know immediately that I have won. The mere mention of Alexandria's premier Italian eatery that also happens to make deliveries has Scully almost salivating in front of me. Like most women I've ever known, Scully seems to be on a perpetual diet and wouldn't dream of indulging herself. But slap it on a plate in front of her and she is powerless to resist.

"Geranios Mulder? I'm impressed."

I suddenly get the feeling that my credit card is in for another hefty work out.

"My place at around..." I do some rapid calculations "...seven?"

She smiles and without warning, stands on tiptoes and drops a kiss on my cheek.

"I'll be there."

I smile right back.

"Don't forget to bring breadsticks."

Concluded in part 4


	4. Part 4 - Consequences

Candlelight

By

AllyinthekeyofX

 **SUMMERY –**

Playing with fire is sometimes the only way. Mulder POV/first person narrative.

 **NOTES –**

This is set somewhere in season 7. Post 'All Things' and it should be noted that I am a true believer in the 'All Things' Mulder/Scully sex phenomena. In my universe at least, by this point they are engaging in the naked pretzel on a semi-regular basis. Spoilers for 'Irresistible' and 'Orison' which are easily two of my all-time favourite episodes. Donnie Pfaster continues to creep me out and will prevent me always from ever having groceries delivered! This is completed bar the usual read through, corrections and edits. And comprises of 4 parts. Reviews make me type faster ;) I realise I have a couple or three unfinished stories on the go at the moment. But I always have a few on the go. It's just how my brain works.

 **DISCLAIMER –**

None of these characters belong to me. They remain the sole property of Chris Carter, Ten Thirteen productions and FOX. They have lots of money as a result. I on the other hand have none.

 **Chapter 4 - Realisation**

I glance at my watch and curse softly. I had thought I would have plenty of time to put this plan of mine in to action, but somehow time had got lost since I waved goodbye to Scully.

The missing time phenomena rearing its ugly head and settling itself on me and me alone.

No abduction scenario this time though.

I'm just not very skilled at this kind of stuff. Thus far in our seven year history, my version of surprising Scully has been to _not_ ditch her when she was expecting me to. And if I'm honest, that's not really a strong point either and one which has been a cause of friction between us for as long as I can remember.

I'm not entirely sure why I sometimes feel the need to ditch her and go it alone. I used to think it was born out of a fear that she would get hurt, be put in unnecessary risk. But if I'm honest, most times when I've gone haring off alone, she has come right after me and on many occasions my ass has been saved because of her.

I hate the fact that she has sacrificed so much to remain at my side. Her life now would be very different if she had never met me I think. But it doesn't stop me being thankful every day that she chose to stay. Because if it weren't for her I think I would have blown apart a long time ago.

And that's what makes this whole situation with Pfaster that much harder to deal with.

Scully is so much stronger than this.

But where he is concerned I think she has forgotten.

But as I blow softly on the burning taper I hold in my hand, extinguishing the flame, I can't help wondering if I'm doing the right thing.

Playing with fire is one thing. Burning someone else is something else altogether.

Especially someone like her.

It's only a few minutes before seven now and if I know Scully, she will be a little early. I can't really remember a time when she has been late for anything. It's part of her need to keep a tight control on things. Just another aspect of her personality that occasionally annoys me but mostly makes me smile.

That woman hates to be late.

I cross quickly to the bedroom. My hair is still slightly damp from the shower but I don't have time now to dry it properly. But that's okay. Scully will probably lecture me on walking around with wet hair. Or maybe she won't. After tonight she might not care. I swallow down the thought. She will understand.

Whether she will thank me is another matter though.

Scully is a very private person. I am aware that I'm not only crossing the line with what I'm doing here tonight.

I'm dropping the fucking H Bomb on it.

For the merest second I suddenly wish I hadn't done this. Or that I had at least talked to her first. But what can I say?

Mr Impulsive. That's me.

I am just buttoning the final button of my shirt when I hear a knock at the door.

I immediately know it's her just by the sound her knuckles make against the hardwood. My timeline with Scully is kind of blurry. I'm not sure exactly when I was able to recognise her by her knock, her footsteps, her breathing.

Or exactly when I could feel her presence in a room long before I saw her.

When I became so tuned in to her that sometimes she appears in my mind's eye a split second before my cell phone rings.

Or when, inexplicably she became a part of me.

 _It just happened._

I take a deep breath and one last, lingering look at my handiwork and once again, send up a silent prayer that I'm doing the right thing.

I think maybe six weeks ago it wouldn't matter the way it does now. Six weeks ago we hadn't taken that final step that changed everything and there's a part of me that is afraid that Scully will see my interference as a kind of ownership.

That I feel like I have a _right._

But it's done now. I can't change it.

So I go to the door and open it. Not so wide that she can see beyond me, but wide enough to not make her feel like I was expecting her to shove a copy of 'The Watch Tower' in my face. And the sight of her almost knocks me square on my ass.

She looks beautiful.

I mean _, really_ beautiful.

She's wearing an outfit I've never seen before. Whether it's a new purchase, maybe bought specially, or one she has simply pulled together for the evening, there is no denying that she looks amazing.

For a start it's not black. Black has become Scully's trademark colour of choice and I hate it with a passion. It succeeds admirably in draining every bit of colour from her face. It's a non-colour. A colour to hide behind. And she shouldn't always feel like she has to hide.

But tonight, she has ditched the black.

The shirt she is wearing – made from a material I don't immediately recognise – is almost sheer enough to see right through although there must be some kind of double layer sewn in to the bodice because it's an optical illusion. It looks like it should be sheer but it isn't. It doesn't appear to have fastenings of any kind. It just flows down from her shoulders before crossing over her smooth midriff where, I'm guessing, it ties at the back maybe?

The colour on her is breathtaking. Colours don't really have much impact on me, especially being that my brain doesn't process colours all that well. But it seems to be doing okay with this one.

It's a soft blue, powder blue I guess. I can't remember ever seeing her wear that colour and it has given a depth to her eyes that I've rarely seen. In fact, the effect is almost mesmerising.

Complimenting that beautiful shirt is a pair of grey slacks. Made from a similar material I think. They hang off her small frame, dropping gracefully, un-creased and unblemished to just skim the toes of her shoes which peek out from beneath. Elegant in their simplicity and so damn feminine I could cry.

Scully normally shies away from anything that actually brings attention to the fact that she is indeed female. I know the job has a lot to do with it. Even in these enlightened times, being a woman in the Bureau is never easy. Being a woman partnered with a crackpot who believes his sister was abducted by little green men...well, I guess that makes it just that much harder. In the early days of our partnership, she would sometimes pair a suit with a less tailored shirt, a necklace maybe. But those days are gone. There is no denying that her wardrobe is infinitely professional. But she wears those suits like armour. I can't remember exactly when she stopped wearing colours. When she reduced her palette to stark monochrome. And it makes me kind of sad.

But tonight, it is all too obvious that she has taken a tremendous amount of trouble and effort with her appearance. That for once she has dropped her armour just a little.

 _For me._

And I feel dry-mouthed with a sudden realisation that I might have _seriously f_ ucked up.

"You look nice" I finally manage. I can't think of anything else to say. But luckily, Scully isn't phased. Hell, she's probably amazed I even noticed. And she rewards me with a smile that lights up her face. I don't get that smile very often. When I do it mentally floors me.

 _Oh yeah. I have seriously fucked up._

I'm tempted to just grab her arm and take her down the corridor, in to the elevator and right the hell out of the building.

Cowardly? Oh yeah.

Useful? Hell no.

So instead, I step aside to allow her entry.

I think if she wasn't half looking at me when she entered, she would have taken one look at my handiwork and refused to cross the threshold. But by the time she noticed, it was too late and I feel like the biggest shit in the world when I close the door behind her as she suddenly freezes.

I don't need to look at her face to know how she looks right now. I saw it yesterday. Like a rabbit caught in the headlights of a speeding car. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to run.

I take her arm, careful to keep my touch soft and light, circling my thumb against the material of that beautiful shirt, just making slight contact with the skin beneath it. It's meant to reassure her but I have barely made contact before I feel her tense. Her whole body suddenly stills, just for a moment.

Then she rounds on me, tearing her arm away from my touch.

The transformation is so fast, so complete, that I take a step back.

"What the hell is this Mulder?" there is an edge of panic to her voice that she tries unsuccessfully to hide.

A panic brought about by the sight of scores of lighted candles, their flickering flames dancing and reflecting off every surface of the room.

"What's what?"

Momentarily, her expression becomes uncertain. She knows, even through her fear, that her reaction is inappropriate to the moment. That any other woman confronted by a darkened apartment suffused with the golden light of a hundred candles would be captivated.

Enchanted even.

Hell, it's the stuff that trashy romance novels are supposedly made.

And I should know. My Mother spent much of my childhood reading them.

Her eyes are shimmering with tears; as yet unshed they make her eyes look huge. And she _knows._ She knows now with certainty that I've found a weak spot she has tried so hard to hide from me. And she has that exact same expression of shame I remember from so many years ago.

 _I'm fine Mulder...just help me get my wrists untied..._

She won't look at me. So, flying by the seat of my pants, I do the only thing that seems to make sense to me at that moment. I reach out towards her and with my index finger, I tip her chin upwards to make her re-connect. But a strategy that worked once fails miserably tonight.

The look on her face is scaring the hell out of me. It's a combination of intense fear and confused betrayal. And it's directed at me.

I don't know what I expected.

But I didn't expect this.

Because instead of angry Scully I've got broken Scully.

I can't believe I have read this whole situation so badly. I expected anger. Rage even. But what I'm confronted with is a woman who seems to be disintegrating. Shattering in to pieces before my eyes.

 _I caused this._

I got her to come here under false pretences to face something she isn't ready to face. Because I was just arrogant enough to think that I could make it okay.

She is crying now. But they are silent tears. She doesn't make a sound and her eyes have gone alarmingly blank. I'm wondering if she is actually here at all.

"Scully?"

No response. Nothing.

I reach out uncertainly, tentatively placing my palm against her cheek, the same way I have done a hundred times before.

But she slaps my hand away. The spell is broken. And I step back as she suddenly launches herself at me.

Screaming.

Scully is _screaming._

A string of profanities that are almost unintelligible in her anger and she is hitting me. Beating her small fists against me as she lets loose.

And I stand there and take it even when she starts to claw at my neck, my face.

Because I sense it's not me she is seeing. That she is back in another place, another time.

The words, the blows, the anger. None of it is directed at me. And while in one sense this whole situation is scaring the living daylights out of me, not least because I have never seen Scully lose control like this before, my instincts tell me that this is what she needs.

I don't know how long the onslaught lasts. But slowly, so slowly, she comes back to me. And with it a gradual realisation of where she is.

Of who _I_ am.

And her hands drop to her sides, fists still tightly clenched as she takes a single shuddering breath.

"Oh God" she whispers and a hand flies to her mouth as she realises what she's done.

I can feel blood on my face but I'm guessing it probably looks a lot worse than it is. Surface wounds.

Hers went a lot deeper.

I daren't touch her yet. She is shaking like a leaf and I sense that she is holding on by a thread right now. I need to give her space to make the first move.

And unsurprisingly, I don't have to wait long before she steps forwards and presses herself against me, allowing me to wrap my arms around her. She is crying.

"I thought you were him Mulder."

"It's okay"

"But I hurt you.."

I hold on to her a little tighter.

" _You could never hurt me Scully"_

EPILOGUE

Despite everything, we salvaged at least a part of the evening. We never did get to order from Geranios. Neither one of us was very hungry. But after Scully had insisted on cleaning me up and discovered, as I already suspected, that the scratches were mostly superficial, I heated up a can of chicken soup.

We ate our humble meal in the living room. Surrounded by a hundred flickering flames.

And we were okay. Right then, we were okay.

End

Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed it please take a moment to leave a review. I can't say how much it makes me smile to know I've written something even half decent.

Ally x


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